


take you into my arms

by tradebabyblues



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1940s, Dancing, Fluff, M/M, Oh god, One Shot, Pining, Pre-War, Skinny!Steve, i honestly dont even know what this is, i think??, if thats a thing, implied pining, pre serum steve rogers, pre war bucky barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 14:13:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7225594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tradebabyblues/pseuds/tradebabyblues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’ll teach you a few steps. You’ll be sweepin’ all the dames off their feet in no time - won’t know what hit ‘em.”</p>
<p>Alternatively titled <i>bucky teaches steve to dance. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	take you into my arms

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing a longer thing and this was supposed to be a 500, 600 word snippet tops and before I knew it I went double the anticipated length. Since I can't quite figure out how to integrate it into the story without it being a super awkward, here it is in all its unbeta'd, unedited, nonsensical glory.
> 
> This is the first thing I've ever posted on AO3 (even though I've been reading fic since roughly 1863) and the first thing I've written in a while, so apologies if it's a bit rough.

“Just  _ one _ dance, Steve,” Bucky insists, grabbing Steve’s wrist as the blond attempts to walk away from what was bound to be another of his friend’s long nights out.

By now, it had become routine - Bucky would get two broads to agree to meet him and a friend at the dance hall, Steve would resist on every single front until somehow Bucky coaxed him enough, they’d find themselves there, music blaring, and Steve’s date would find some excuse to bolt sometime between seeing how short her escort was, and realizing that he also had the misfortune of two left feet. And it wasn’t like he didn’t expect it now, but all that experience failed to decrease the amount of wall side sulking sure to ensue once Bucky and his date were well into breaking in the dance floor. Steve was always left with squat until the night was done. Still, he stayed every time, watching Buck’s sharp movements and charisma, learning new trends from dames that would drag him left and right for a quick spin.

Steve yanks his arm away and takes a seat on the couch, picking up his sketchbook to finish up the drawing he had begun that morning - a few kids on the sidewalk playing jacks, a some boys with their caps turned low and a couple girls with their hair in pigtails. The sun’s still out, streams of it stretching right onto Steve’s lap, so he can see his work in the best environment possible. If he hurries, he can get it done without having to use the harsh artificial lighting he usually finds himself under.

“You can’t just hole yourself in here every night, c’mon.” Bucky admonishes, taking the pencil and book out of his friend’s hand, to Steve’s fervent disapproval. “Rose agreed t’ bring her cousin along - she’s visiting from Philly, it's your once shot” Bucky offers, huffing when Steve attempts to grab his possessions out of Bucky’s prying hands.

“There’s always more girls, Buck,” Steve replies, resigning himself to the couch and allowing the cushions to sink under him as he leans back and crosses his arms stubbornly. Bucky turns into a child when he doesn't get what he wants, honestly.

He bites the question on the tip of his tongue back - the one he finds himself wanting to ask whenever there’s a broad that sticks around for more than a few nights, like Rose has. Steve always imagines the answer he’d receive as a little  _ mhm _ , like the ones Bucky lets out when he’s got a cigarette wrapped hanging out of his lips or a book in his hands. Casual, like it’s a fact, like it’s not a big deal, because they never seem to be for Bucky.

_ “You goin’ steady?” _

Steve doesn’t ask; never asks. It’s none of his business, he thinks, feeling guilty every time he’d lean his head against the paper thin wall that separated them night after night, only to catch snippets of her muffled giggles or his accidental moans. But just as sure as Bucky would invite his date in, whether for a bit of necking or simply a quick freshening up, she would leave just as quickly as she came; it would always be an hour, two hours tops, even when Bucky had been going steady with the girl, some for as long as four months. 

“Buck, I’ve already been out twice this week with you,” Steve points out instead, scoffing when Bucky juts out his lower lip in a familiar plea mechanism that used to get him to surrender each time without fail till they turned around twelve.  “Just not in the mood to watch your doll dizzy self make googly eyes at your date all night.” 

Bucky pouts more.

“No,” Steve repeats, firmer now, when Bucky’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head. Steve can practically see the lightbulb above him go off amidst a burst of sparks and electric currents. Whenever Bucky got an idea, it hit him like a train, and nothing on God’s green earth could come in between him and what he wanted.

He walks toward their radio, taking a few moments to sift through the sports and news clips to find a midtempo song, not unlike the ones he drags girls onto the floor for upon hearing the opening notes. Steve laughing, Bucky approaches him with a look that he’s seen a million times before - corners of his mouth tilted up and eyebrows raised: the same ones that get the broads swooning.

Hand out, anticipating Steve’s grip, Bucky half sings half says, “I’ll teach you a few steps. You’ll be sweepin’ all the dames off their feet in no time - won’t know what hit ‘em.”

Upon Steve’s refusal, he drags him up himself, using the many pounds and many inches at his disposal. ( _ “The only advantage to you being ninety pounds of skin and bones,”  _ Bucky would say, _ “Is that you’re compact and travel size.” _ ) In spite of Steve’s chuckled complaints, he manages to manipulate their limbs so Steve has Bucky in his arms like he’s a damsel in distress and Steve’s going to carry him to safety.

“You hold her like this,” Bucky explains, tightening Steve’s hold on his hip and easing it up on his shoulder. “And this dance’s quick - you’ve seen me do this one right?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Steve groans, watching their feet move together effortlessly to the rhythm. It’s a languid version of whatever dance is currently "sweeping through the nation like an epidemic," according to the instructional videos; Bucky always gets them right away. As bored as Steve will become on their forced double dates, stuck to a wall or twiddling his thumb at a spare seat, Bucky’s mesmerizing on the floor and thus a stimulating observation subject. Doing the swing, the rumba, whatever - he’d throw the women across the floor and catch them with ease, eyes easy and limbs free, like every ounce of stress he’d ever experienced faded out with the tunes.

They dance like that for a while, gradually growing faster. Bucky’ll pause when he thinks Steve’s doing well, and will switch their positions to teach Steve little tricks - like how to throw the dame out, or twirl her, or dip her.

It's easy, Steve thinks, with Bucky, in a way that it's never been with any of the girls he's gotten set up with. Because Bucky actually smiles at Steve's mistakes, will tell him _"keep going, keep going, Stevie. You're not about to leave me out on the floor without a partner._ " Because Bucky  _likes_ that Steve's a bit smaller, more not as harsh in his dance moves. Because Bucky's familiar and earnest in his words and touches in a way that Steve's never had the fortune of experiencing with a lady.

“You ever think of going dancing with me?” The burnet winks after he dips Steve and twirls him out in one fluid and synergistic motion that leaves the both of them breathless as the final note rings out. “Think you’d make a real nice partner.”

Barking out a laugh, Steve detaches himself from Bucky’s hold and takes a breather on the couch. Reckless as he’ll be with guys a thousand times burlier than himself, Steve knows when his body needs a break, knows when he can handle a little more strain than usual. If he didn’t, he’d already be dead, either from back alley rumbles or Bucky doing the honors himself out of frustration. 

“‘M not your girl, Buck.” Steve mumbles, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “And if I was, think I’d have lots of better guys linin’ up. Wouldn’t have to be stuck with your mug for longer than three seconds before someone would steal me away.”

Bucky grins over him, cheeks flushed and face covered in a light sheen. All his life, he’s been the model of perfect health and athleticism, barely breaking a sweat after a run around the schoolyard when other boys in their grade would be bent over with exhaustion by the end of it. Steve thinks about it - the boy he met who ran off a swarm of bullies without having to try, who at age twelve, began taking on boys twice his size if it meant relieving Steve of the drubbings he could never give up.

“But you’d still pick me,” Bucky states, like a fact, like the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Steve stares out the window; the night is young, but sunless now - the star long gone beyond the neighborhood buildings. A few strips of purple brush atop the horizon, but most of the sky is a stark black now, the street illuminated. He won’t be able to finish his drawing tonight.

Sitting down next to Steve, Bucky beams at him as the the station shifts to a softer song: long drawn out viola notes and faint trumpet sounds underneath a gentle voice, barely above a whisper. Bucky’s finger skims along Steve’s angular wrist, finally taking it in his hand and tugging him up. Wordlessly, the two get themselves situated, fitting together comfortably in spite of the size disparity, in spite of Steve's inexperience.

Bucky wraps his arms around the younger man's shoulders, coming to meet at his nape and tickle at the sparse blond strands below his hairline. Steve grips Bucky’s hips, tenacious like Bucky taught them but still blissfully gentle, like flower petals against skin. 

“I think I would,” Steve admits, stating it like a fact, like what comes up must come down. “I think I would pick you every time.”

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: @mlndatwork  
> tumblr: trohmanofficial.tumblr.com


End file.
